That's So Cliche
by Rikitikitavixo
Summary: Wendy Testaburger has it all planned out. Parties, sneaking out, boyfriends: all parts of her high school plan. She's not about to let anyone change the plan, either. But, as we all know, we have no control over what's written in the stars.
1. Chapter 1

**That's So Cliché!**

**Chapter 1: She's Making a List, She's Checking it Twice.**

I never really thought the day would come. For as many fun and interesting events that happened in my childhood, the past 14 years of my life have droned on and on. I never imagined the day would come that I would set my foot onto the welcoming mat of South Park High and take in the clean smell of the freshly cleaned marble floors and freshly painted stone walls as a freshman. That's right, 9th grade. It all seemed so amazing, the school was huge. There were people everywhere. I was in awe. As excited as I was to finally be playing in the big leagues, I was still a little nervous that I would be stuck sitting in the sidelines and watching as everyone else went through highschool and I just drifted along. I wasn't going to do that again. I went through my whole life with my face in the plain pages of the text books, reading about how others made people of themselves, and digits in a calculator, constantly punching in and calculating the minutes I was wasteing on pointless school work instead of living a life worth living. My friends have all had boyfriends, first kisses, love stories, LOVE LIFES, and what have I got? Only romance novels to fill the void in my heart that longed for some type… ANY type of romance. Hopes filled my mind as I stepped through that door that one of upperclassmen would swish me off my feet and give me exactly what I was looking for.

There were three middle schools, total. In middle school I went to Ridgeview Middleschool, positioned closest to the mountains, which was admitidly the richest school of the three. My middle school had all the beautiful, popular bitches in it, not to say that the entire female population in my old school was bitchy and popular, but if you were to point one out at the highschool, there's a 99.9% chance that they went to my middleschool. That's only because we have money, and those who have money liked those who have money, and no one else. I'll admit, I am part of that crowd, I have been told that I do have stunningly good looks, and everyone likes me(except for maybe those ugly, annoying chicks that me and my friends kind of pick on), and all of the popular bitches are my best friends, so I guess I do fit into the bitchy, popular, stereotype. I try not to be too bitchy, though. I mean, if you piss me off, I'll raise hell, but if you're on my goodside, I'm a great friend to have! Just ask anyone, it's a fact! I'm sure I could have gotten a boyfriend in middle school, in fact, I'm positive! I was asked out by guys all of the time, but I always turned them down because all of the guys in my school only saw three things in girls,

Money. Money clouds all judgement with those people. If you were elected Miss Bronco because of your stunningly beautiful looks, you would get turned down by every guy in our school if you didn't have a decently heavy wallet.

Looks and status. Money comes first, but if you had a lot of money, but weren't fun to look at or popular, you wouldn't stand a chance.

Boobs. Who am I kidding? This rule really applies to every guy.

So, I basically didn't want to involve myself with someone who was only in the relationship for the reputation, and the ability to say, "Hey! My girlfriend? Oh yeah, I'm dating Wendy Testaburger. Fuck yeah, her dad's LOADED, and she ain't so bad herself!" Doesn't that sound fantastic? Exactly. That's why they all got turned down. By 8th grade I had developed the reputation of not just hard to get, but impossible to get. Guys all made jokes about how I was going to be in the V club for the rest of my life. They just don't get the fact that they are just all pompus ass, selfish dicks, and when I go into a relationship, I'm in it long term. I don't whore around like my friends, who have all dated probably every guy in the school, which is why they get so much action… and I don't. But I don't mind that. I don't want my first kiss to be on the floor of the boy's bathroom with "Super Fake Jock" Clyde like my best friend Bebe got. She even admits that if Clyde wasn't such a good kisser, it would be the most regrettable mistake of her life. It's a shame they only lasted 4 weeks. They were cute together! The only guy in our school that wasn't so much of a rich asshole would have to be Kyle Broflovski, but he wasn't datable material. The bitch in me will come out when I say, no one would date him because of his friends. Even though Kyle was potentially the richest kid in all of South Park, he insisted on hanging out with the poorer kids of the city, even one of the poorest, Kenny McKormick. He didn't seem to mind, either, which was what made his popularity take an absolute nose dive. People talked to him (and about him), and he was an absolute genius (like myself), but the fact of the matter was, he was in a worse situation than me: not just single, but unwanted, too. At least guys wanted me. It's a shame, really, it's not like he's bad looking. He's sort of skinny, average height, but he has always been toned for his age. He must be really active. For a while he was really hard to look at and not laugh, seeing as he had a ginger jew-fro the size of Jupiter, but in 7th grade he got it tamed and cut, and now it's sort of wavy. His bangs go over his forehead and stop at his eyebrows and sort of swish to the left of his head, almost like he flipped his hair too hard and it got stuck like that, and the rest of his hair seems to follow that same flow. It kind of looks like an ice cream cone, now that I think of it! But every guy calls him flippy-hair man (he DOES flip his hair a lot... it's kind of hot). Or gay. One or the other, both kind of make sense.

Upon the mentioning of Kyle, that brings me back to my original point. There are two other schools that go into the highschool, one is Stark Middleschool, the central middleschool that is positioned near Stark's Pond, which is kind of the middle ground of the schools with all of the mellowed out kids who generally don't give a shit about drama and money, seeing as most are middleclass anyways. They're pretty good at sports, too. They kick ass at football and soccer, and usually destroyed every team in their devision. I haven't been around that school, because, other than Cross Country (distance running), I don't do any sports, and my kind doesn't usually communicate with, dare I say it, their kind. I've never seen people from that school, and I guess that's good, because if I were to be friends with anyone from there, I'd be standing over the edge of popularity, ready to jump off.

The other middle school was just South Park Middle School. They were too poor to have a special name. Everyone knew the names of the kids at that school because they were either getting arrested for drugs, arson, or underage drinking. I'm being totally honest, here. Every person, I kid you not, was dirt poor, not a single penny to their name. And they made it known that they needed money by robbing stores for it. Remember Kenny McKormick? I mentioned him earlier? That's where he goes. He wasn't really known for doing anything too bad, except for being a total feminist jackass who has his face buried in the boobs of a bunny all of the time, if you know what I mean… My friends warne me to dodge him at all costs, just because I'm a little… chesty.. and he would be all over me like water on a sponge. It scares me, sort of, thinking about sharing a school with scum like that. It's gross.

I now have high hopes for highschool. I intend on keeping my grades up, but I will deffinately get more involved in socializing. I even made myself a list of things that needed to get done by the end of freshman year. Reading over the list I can't help but to notice the lurching of my stomach at the excitement for some of them. It makes me dizzy, thinking of the experiences I would get this year. I knew they would get done, too. When I make a commitment, I don't quit until it is done. So it will get done. I'm Wendy Testaburger. I get what I fucking want.

**Wendy's To do list: Freshman Addition**

Get my first boyfriend, preferably a sexy, upperclassman with a lot of money, so daddy will approve. I hope he can drive…

Have the PERFECT first date.

Fall in love

Have someone fall in love with me.

Get my first kiss, from same sexy upperclassmen. If he sucks at kissing…. Lord help his ass

Go to my first crazy highschool party, with or without alcohol, either way, it needs to be a party environment, I've never been in that before… maybe taste the forbidden fruit… Bebe should be able to get me into one

Get a job, maybe that's where I'll meet my sexy upperclassman ;)

Varsity in Cross Country, I was best in middle school, I intend to be so in highschool

Get a B. I've been too focused on school and not enough on play. Getting a lower grade would be a good start.

Make out.

Buy a thong and a push up bra. Make people want to see me naked. But not let them get any. I can't be a TOTAL whore. I have morals, you know.

Make tons of new friends (That's a given)

Join swim team. Good looking people swim.

Sneak out

Be offered drugs, or a cigarette, but be the bigger person and turn them down.

…

…

…

…

…

Make more goals as you go!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: And We were Merely Freshman **

Before school started we were given the opportunity to pick where our lockers were positioned in the school, so Bebe and I made our lockers right next to each other's. They were right outside of the cafeteria for easy access before and after lunch, so we could switch out our materials from morning to afternoon. The lockers were tall, slim, and red. They were freshly painted, so they looked brand new from the outside. The high school did a lot of improvement over the summer, which was a relief. I had heard that it was once a trashy mess with broken bathrooms, stained walls, rusty lockers, and broken floors. I didn't like the thought of leaving a highly improved and squeaky clean middle school and going into a trashy, ghetto high school with trashy ghetto people. The people were bad enough.

I twisted the combination into my pastel pink sphere of a lock and opened the locker for the first time of the year. The outside may look new, but the same couldn't be said about the inside. The metal was tarnished and rusted, it smelled like what I imagine the previous user of the locker smelled like, the hooks where someone would normally hang their bags or umbrellas or coats were torn out and old pieces of gum were jammed in the holes where the hooks once sat. I grunted in disgust and slammed it shut, noticing Bebe's astonished glance up from her position on her knees over her Fire engine red Gucci bag.

"Who ever had this locker last was a total jackass!" I grumbled, crossing my arms and pushing my hips out in my best pissed of position I could think of. "I mean, who the hell is shallow enough to destroy a locker JUST for the hell of it. People are so annoying."

Bebe pushed her blonde perm out of her eyes and nudged me over to see the inside of my locker. "Mines fine," she continued as she looked into mine. She recoiled at the sight and looked at me with the same annoyed face, biting the bottom of her glossed, bright red lips and widening her overly lined eyes (Bebe was able to work it, though. A lot better than I ever could) "They should have let us open them before we chose them, that's total bull shit. Go see the janitor, have them fix it. The office is just down the hall."

I nodded and gestured towards my Hello Dahlia Vera Bradley tote filled with supplies, telling her to watch it while I was gone. She nodded back as I turned and headed down the hall. As I entered the janitor's office I was welcomed with a wonderful, overpowering wave of humidity and smoke. I choked out as the man laying back in his recliner office chair took his feet off of the table and stood up. I observed his appearance, noticing his beer belly and yellow, sweat stained, wife beater with dirty old khakis. He took his cigar out of his mouth and puffed a ring of smoke into my face making me choke even more. "What ya' want, kid?"

"My locker is trashed; I would like it to get cleaned." I glared up at him

"Do it cherself, I only clean important stuff."

"Excuse me? This is your job. I demand you clean my locker or I'll ensure that my daddy gives this school a call with a very negative report on a certain lazy ass Janitor named….. Carl" I retorted, taking a second in the statement to glance at his name tag.

"Oh, great. More rich bitches. Ridgeview sure know how ta bring 'em up." He grumbled. "You can tell yer daddy that Carl'll have yer locker cleaned out by lunch. You can tell yer daddy that Carl also said that if you keep that 'tude up through high school, Carl'll be cleaning you out of a locker before lunch."

"What 'tude'?"

"The, 'I'm betta than e'ry body else in this place 'cause I gots myself some fancy shit' 'tude. Don' act like ya' don' know what I'm sayin'. Jus' take it from someone who went through high school, y'all need a reality check soon, or you ain't gun' like how yer gunna get it."

"Whatever, I'm not taking advice from someone who finds it difficult to simply pronounce words correctly. Just get my locker clean by lunch; I'd rather not carry my stuff around all day. My locker numbers 342. Combination 10-13-21. Get it done." I stated finally and left, taking a deep breath of air as I stepped out into clean air. I'm not like that with everyone, I swear. I just hate it when people don't want to do what they are paid to do. Working people work to support themselves, no one else. I returned to my locker and took my bag from Bebe, who must have noticed my pissed off face.

"Didn't go too well?"

"He was just an asshole" I responded and headed towards the bathroom. In the mirror I applied another layer of Pina Colada flavored gloss from Bath and Body Works, my favorite place in the planet. I twisted a loose strand of hair back into its curl that it got away from and adjusted my light purple top. My jet black hair was curled and sitting on my right shoulder. I was just wearing a light purple, ruffled, lace top, with dark denim shorts and my brown and plaid Sperry Topsiders. I popped my lips one last time before leaving the bathroom with Bebe who had just adjusted her black, leather skirt. Bebe had just broken up with Clyde for about the 4th time since they first dated, saying that she was unhappy and wanted to expose herself to high school life. Meaning, Clyde got boring and she wanted to whore it up with upperclassmen. With that said, she made sure she looked top dollar on her first day with a black, leather skirt and slim fitted, bright red tank top, that was low just enough to see the very top of her black lace lined bra. By best friend was such a skank.

__

At the sound of the bell me and Bebe hugged and parted for our first class, Bebe already getting a hoard of guys asking her where she was headed. My schedual was:

1: English

2: AP Global Studies (Advanced Placement)

3: Algebra 2 (Also advanced for my grade)

4: German

5: Lunch

6:Speech

7: Biology (Advanced Placement)

8: Gym

My teachers in all of my classes already knew me because of my dad, and my reputation in the school district as a 4.0 student, so they were all pretty nice. I was relieved to have gym last, because I would be automatically changed and ready for Cross country practice after school, and I wouldn't have to worry about being gross and sweaty the rest of the day for the whole year. I had no real problems throughout the day, all of my classes were pretty decent. The whole day was "let's get to know everyone" in everyclass, and my lunch had ALL of my friends in it, so I was pretty happy with the day at the end. There was only 1 problem. It occurred and will continue to occur in 3 of my classes. The same problem.

That problem is none other than Eric Cartman. I had heard rumors about him in middle school about him being a sexist fat ass that thinks he's the shit even though no one likes him at all. He's in my English, German, and Gym class. He sits next to me in German, and behind me in English. All throughout German he hounded me down; telling me to make him a sandwich, telling me to "do what he fucking told me to, ho" and various sexist slurs that made him just seem like a bigger jackass. He was a cheater, too. We filled out a survey about ourselves and I caught him glancing over at my sheet as I was filling it out. At first I thought he was trying to read it to see what I was into so he could possibly "earn some points" or something stupid like that, but instead, he wrote down exactly what I had. Including "Shopping with my girlfriends and sleepovers with my girlfriends" under the free time category. Congratulations, Cartman, now the teacher thinks you're either gay or a womanizer. Eh… Probably gay. It was going to be a really long year with him in 3 of my classes. I hate it when people try too hard to be cool, I also hate it when people whine about doing work, like that Janitor. Just my luck, Eric Cartman fills the shoes for both of those things I hate. Needless to say, he went to Stark Middle School. How exciting. Not to mention he takes up my entire seat room with his fat rolls.

After gym I returned to my cleaned out locker and put all of my stuff in it. It was the first day; I obviously didn't have any homework. I waited about 5 minutes for Bebe until I decided she was probably caught up with some guy and would most likely be a while, so I shut my locker and left, planning on texting her after cross country.

After school let out I went to cross country practice. It's nice to be able to sit down at cross country and just stretch my tense limbs. I stretched out my left leg and tucked the right under my thigh. Leaning into my left leg and grabbing my foot, I took in a breath of the rich, pine coated air. The cross country met in a beautiful addition to the high school. We knew it as the herb garden, because the health teacher goes on a rampage every year apparently and plants hundreds of herbs, filling the air with minty scents of the hundreds of herbs that surround them. Seeing as the health teacher has not yet been to the garden, it was simply a grass clearing in the center of a cluster of pine trees. The air was rich with the smell of pine, and I loved it. Pine always takes me back to my childhood, before life changed and I grew up. There was a stone bench in the clearing that an upper classman girl, Samantha Gerbish , was sitting on. When we started cross country practices early in the summer Samantha had made it known that she, and she alone would sit on the bench. She was the only senior, AND the best on the team, "she only deserved it." Yeah, well she hasn't seen Wendy compete. Wendy will kick your ass Sammie.

Our coach came through the path and into the clearing, brushing a few pine limbs out of his face as he approached us. Our team was pretty small. 12 people, enough for a varsity team and a decent sized JV team, though. So it was big enough.

"They should really think about trimming these" He said in annoyance. Coach Manders had a pretty girlish voice. It was gentle and high, not like the voice of a stereotypical coach. We all knew he couldn't yell, his voice would just crack way too much. If you were to run into Manders on the street you would instantly think of him as a pedophile. Honest. His overall presence just screams, "give me your child so I can make happy time in my midlife crisis". But he's not like that at all, he just sounds and looks like it. When it comes to missing practice, he's pretty strict, but other than that he's pretty flexible and easy to work with. He knows what he's doing, too. He almost won states at a cross country meet his senior year, but he regrets his decision to slack at the end because he thought he had the race because it opened a window of opportunity for someone to steal the prize. That person took that opportunity. My team mates tell me he still beats himself up about that, to this day. And as a punishment he makes us do hundreds of sprint workouts so we have hard finishes at the end of our races. It makes sense, though. I feel bad for the guy, it was his last chance to prove himself, but he chose to blow it all away. I would NEVER live that down.

"Alright, guys, our first meet is next Saturday morning, it's a home meet. We're running the hilly route, so that's what we're going to be practicing this week." Manders said, receiving groans from all of us. I hated hill workouts, they killed my legs, and I wasn't the only one. Even hotshot Sammie was complaining, but coach just told us all to shut up and stop complaining, saying we'd be almost done with our workout by the time we stopped whining. We all hushed up and set out to the hilly side of town to run hill repeats. After about 30 reps practice was over and we returned back to the school. I was the only freshman on the team this year, but coach loved me because I was showing signs of being the best. The only problem with that was I had to sit out front, alone, for about 20 minutes, waiting for my dad to swing by and pick me up after work.

I sat against the wall and pulled out my phone to see if I had any text messages, sure enough, I had one from about all of my friends asking me how my day went, and one from the hot junior in my Algebra 2 class saying:

**Hey, it's me, Gregory! Text me whenever you can, I'd love you talk to you .**

He was pretty sweet, and I was in love with his British accent. If I could get a hot blonde with a British accent, angels would sing! I texted him back with a smile on my face, excited that I now knew who my upperclassman boyfriend was going to end up being. He was average height, but taller than me, with a pale but muscular body composition. He carried himself with his back high and tall and he had every stand of his golden blonde locks combed to perfection. He seemed snooty and bitchy at first, but sitting next to him in biology I found that to be very untrue. He was a total sweetheart with manners that any girl would die for. To top it off, he didn't go to any of the middle schools, he moved, STRAIGHT FROM BRITAIN, to South Park this year on a business transfer for his father. Upon introduction I was melting over his stunning looks. I hadn't 'fallen for him' so to speak, but I do know that I could see myself with him, and I knew daddy would love him. I just hope I'd be able to get him to like me enough to ask me out.

**Hey! Sorry, I was at cross-country. What's up? **

And from there the plan began.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for sticking with my story, even though I've been gone for a little while… Hope you guys are liking it so far!:) This chapter will be told from the perspective of a different character, which you will learn while reading. This takes place outside of the school while Wendy is waiting for her dad to pick her up, and continues after she responds to Gregory. Enjoy!

PS If you haven't noticed so far, all the chapter titles are all song lyrics. If you wanna know the songs, message me as you please!

**Chapter 3: Someone like You**

"No, you just don't get it! I don't have the time for it right now. The coach is looking at me for varsity this season. Do you know how great that'd be, dude? Varsity. Freshman year!" Kyle may be my best friend since… god… preschool, I'd have to say, but he sure gets annoying as hell when he constantly wants to do rich stuff like Golfing or going to his Country Club. I don't know the first step of golf, except for hit the ball and hope it hits an ass hole. That's what golf SHOULD be. And as much as I love, and I mean LOVE, hunting for babes in bikinis at the country club, now that summer's over I have more things to focus on than girls. They just cloud your mind and judgment from what really matters. Life. How am I supposed to make starter QB my freshman year if I have my mind tangled in the knots of some bitches hair? I'm not, that's the answer. "Why don't you take Kenny? You know he loves being around rich people! Give the poor sap what he misses out on in life!"

"No, Stan, YOU don't get it! Ever since the season conditioning started you've been football this, football that, and when you're not AT football, you're talking about football. You're starting to sound like a blockhead jock and I'm afraid you're going to become one! So I'm trying to get all the fun out of the Stan I know before a concussion on the field gets rid of him!" Kyle groaned as he followed me out of the weight room. I couldn't help but to hear the chuckle escape from my lips as I stood there shaking my head in embarrassment at what he just said.

"You sound like such a girl, dude. I'm just in the zone now because I'm determined to get starter QB. Once I have the position locked I'll be more chill about it, trust me." I gave a muffled laugh again as I wiped my face off with the white washcloth coach gave me before leaving the weight room. It definitely wasn't fresh. In fact… It definitely wasn't even white. It was coated in sweat stains and yellowed from repeated use. I cringed, I may be a sweaty, football jock, but germs are just gross, man. "You're way too paranoid, bro. And you know I hate golfing, you just take me every time because you know I'm someone you can beat. I don't want to waste my energy doing that stuff when I need to relax for tryouts next week. Now, if you want, you can come to 'fun Stan's' house to play some CoD. That's fun and I won't waste my energy. Would you like that, mister Kyle? Or should I book another day with "fun Stan" before he goes Bye-bye?"

"Yeah, sure, that's fine I guess. But don't come crying to me when you wanna score a babe at the country club. Like you said, you don't have time for that stuff." He huffed, ripping the washcloth away from me and throwing it into the lawn. "That's gross, don't use that." He criticized.

"I was only holding onto it, it's not mine." I retorted as I turned towards the cloth. Making my way towards it seemed to take forever because I was so sore from lifting, but it didn't turn out to matter anyways, seeing as, once I got close to it, the landscaping man on his fancy riding mower ran right over it, spitting out tiny, sweaty strands of rag that fluttered to the ground after they met their fate. "Look at what you fucking did, man! That wasn't mine!"

"Oh boo-hoo, LET'S WHINE ABOUT IT." Kyle laughed as I turned to him and slapped his shoulder, partially for the washcloth, but also for stealing my line. I said that to him and Cartman all the time when they got in ridiculous arguments. It made Kyle feel stupid, and let him know that I was getting annoyed, and it shut Cartman up because he felt like by stopping the argument, even if he started it, he would be the bigger man than Kyle. Whining made any guy sound like a pussy, and according to him, Cartman is no pussy( he is though, don't let it fool you.)

"Let's just wait at the bench for my dad, he might be a while, he's been drinking."

"At 3:00 P.M?" I was surprised he even asked that. He's known my dad all his life, he should know by not that my dad did not follow any set of 'rules' in the world of drinking. There was no calendar, no time that he had set aside for getting wasted, he just got wasted. Why waste time thinking about getting wasted when you can just do it? That's always his argument. 'If you're able to work drunk, you're able to work anytime, so why not show the boss what you can work through?' That was my dads excuse for almost getting fired for drinking on the job. I could tell Kyle realized the fault in what he said, since he just raised his eyebrows at himself and mouthed 'Oh yeah,' and turned away, proceeding to sit on the bench I indicated a few seconds earlier.

"Hey, better P.M. than A.M," I sighed as I sat down next to him, putting my arms up comfortably and lacing my fingers behind my head. I leaned over my knees to stretch my back and turned my head to the opposite side of Kyle and sort of sat there, loosening the tightness in my spine as much as I could. As my head was turned my eyes caught onto a sight of pink and black that was sitting by the front entrance of the school. She was tall, lean looking, and just stunning beyond belief. I can't really describe the feeling I got the moment my eyes caught onto her, but it was similar to the feeling of eating a spicy Taco Bell burrito after a long workout. It filled me up with a sudden feeling of revitalization and replenishment that gave me a joyful sensation at first, but resulted in a gut wrenching, over powering, burning sensation in my heart, which would be the result of having the burrito too soon after working out. But someone as stunning as her shouldn't even be related to a fast food burrito, she looked so classy and well put together, even after what was obviously a work out with some fall sports team going on. Every strand in her long, jet black, pony tail was slid into the perfect areas. Even the strands in her bangs and along the sides of her head that seemed to have run loose from the pack looked as though they were like that intentionally. She looked down at her phone with those eyes. From the distance I was at, it was nearly impossible to tell the color of her eyes, but it was easy to tell that they were a deep, cool shade that seemed to go on forever. Even from my distance I was getting lost in their distant gaze into the cell phone.

She pushed her loose bangs out of her face with her index finder and reached into her Vera Bradley bag (My sister, Shelley, has one of them, that's how I know what it is), pulling out what looked like a note pad and a mechanical pencil. Her focus was placed intently on the paper as she started to scribble at random places on the paper. I watched her every move as her nail-painted fingers moved across the page in no pattern what-so-ever. They were just going and going. Upon the realization that she had her focus drawn elsewhere, I took the opportunity to observe. Her legs went on for days, topped with black running shorts with a hot pink lining, as well as a hot pink Nike swoosh. She covered her full chest (if you know what I mean) with a hot pink sports bra that was almost exactly the same shade as the one on the shorts, but the bra was a little darker. I don't mean to sound like a typical teenage boy, but for being framed by a sports bra, she was, well, like I said, FULL. Her flat stomach was completely exposed, and not a single crease was found there. It was toned and tanned like no other. She had to be cross country if she was dressed like that. That's the only girl sport that doesn't have a dress code for practice because they're not generally on school ground anyway. I was so busy searching every curve and shape of her body that I hadn't even noticed Kyle yelling for me. When I finally noticed, I was slightly irritated at the fact that I had to draw my attention towards him now.

"Did you die there, dude? You've been like that for like 5 minutes!" He huffed, shaking my back before I curled my spine upward like a rag doll. Well, my back was certainly loose now.

"Nah, I'm fine. Do you know who that is?" I asked, nodding my head in the direction of the girl, hoping Kyle would be as sneaky at looking at her as possible. Luckily, he caught onto the secretive tone in my voice, and looked over his shoulder very discreetly. His eyes widened at the sight of her and he turned to me with a critical gaze.

"No, Stan. The answer is no." He glared at me sternly.

"'No' as in you don't know her?"

"No as in she is not a road you want to go down. Yes, I know her. Her name is Wendy Testaburger. She was in with the popular girls at my old middle school. She's rich and judgmental; no matter how hard you tried you wouldn't be able to get a word in with her. She can sniff out a middle class kid from a mile away, there's just no way, Stan. Plus, she's got this weird rejection thing, turning down every guy that's ever asked her out, I think she might be too focused on work and stuff to want a boyfriend." Kyle trailed as he followed my gaze at her again. He punched my knee causing me to whip my head around instantly, feeling a sharp sting in my neck. I grabbed at it instantly and groaned.

"Awesome, thanks for that, man." I growled, glaring up at him from my bowed head as my rubbed out the kink. "Have you ever stopped to think that maybe she rejects every guy that's asked her because she isn't looking for a pompous ass rich bitch? No offense."

"Well… I suppose that COULD be possible. But I still don't know, Stan. I don't know her that well, but I hear she's bad news. She may have this innocent, good girl reputation going on, but throughout middle school all I ever heard about was her pissing someone off."

"They're rich girls; they get pissed off if you get dirt on their Jimmy Choo's."

"Truer words have never been spoken," he said, flipping his hair dramatically before turning to her again. "It's just… she didn't talk to me at all in middle school, solely for the reason of my friends. She doesn't LIKE being around the lower classes. It's not her, it's how she was raised, and it's the environment she was brought up in. If my dad didn't expose me to… well… you guys, I'd be the same exact way."

"Well, maybe high school will shape her up a little bit… I mean, every penny get's dirty eventually. She's just a polished penny on the sidewalk, she's bound to lose that rich girl luster eventually, and I intend on being around when that happens."

"You haven't said a single word to her, Stan. You're being totally illogical." Kyle folded his arms and slumped back. He knew I was stubborn, so he knew he was going to lose this. I retrieved my phone after it vibrated violently in my pocket and glanced down at the text from my dad.

**Got cuaghty uip ay wirk, might bw a litle latr, Give meh 2 Hors .**

I shook my head at his drunken slur, which I took the time to translate into 'Got caught up at work, might be a little late. Give me 2 hours.' Yeah…. Work. That's it, alright. "Well, unless you want to wait two hours, I think CoD is off for today," I said apologetically.

"Oh… so he's working an extra shift again?" Kyle said with a mixture of sarcasm and disappointment.

"Yeah, sorry, dude."

"Well, my dad's not home to give you a ride, and you know my mom's in Canada right now with Ike, so I'll just have to walk home. You gunna be okay here alone?"

"Dude, we're in high school, I'll be fine. I'll just get an extra round in the weight room done before my dad gets here, no big deal." I shrugged, hiding the truth behind my teeth as I let the lies slide through. Kyle gave me that parental look that told me not to do anything stupid, and I got that gross, mom feeling, like I usually do when he looks at me like that. "Seriously, just go" I said, waving him off.

"Alright…. Remember what I said about her, Stan. Don't forget."

"That's generally what you do when you remember something" I said sarcastically as he rolled his eyes at me and made his way out of my sights. Once there was no sign of Kyle, I grasped my bag and quietly made my way towards the entrance. And Wendy. She was looking at her phone with frustration before sitting her head back on the wall and moaning angrily. She looked towards the sky and shook her head, letting a slight laugh escape from her pink lips. I got closer, hearing the chime of her voice as she threw her phone in her bag and growled "Of course, of-fucking-course." She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, burying her face in between her knees, mumbling obscenities into the wind.

I swallowed the boulder in my throat and moved closer, trying my best to get a word out, but when I tried to ask if I could sit with her, all that came out was a tiny burping sound and a squeak. My eyes grew wide as she glanced upward with a confused yet annoyed face. I gulped again and proceeded to clear my throat. "Sorry… I was… uhm… going to ask… if I could…You know… sit here…with… you." I said, pausing between every other word, taking in her reaction. She stared up at me with those oceanic opals and seemed to stare right through me. I felt almost violated, but I didn't mind at all.

"Well," She started, causing my stomach to drop a few hundred feet below sea level, "My dad just told me he'd be another 2 hours, so I guess it wouldn't be horrible to have someone to keep me company while I wait." She responded, with a tone of total indifference that cut through me like a dagger. I've had quite a few girlfriends in my day, and none of them have ever had me this spell bound. None of them had me like Wendy did, and we've only exchanged two sentences. Hell, she didn't even know my name. But who cares? I could look all over the work and not find anyone like her. I'd do anything for her. And I don't even know her.


End file.
